Grace to you and peace from our loving God, and from our Lord and Savior Jesus Christ. Amen.

And one ran and, filling a sponge full of vinegar, put it on a reed and gave it to him to drink, saying, "Wait, let us see whether Elijah will come to take him down." And Jesus uttered a loud cry, and breathed his last.

Some times when reading this holy narrative, a word or a verse rises to the surface. For me this year, it's the phrase "sour wine." It suggests itself as a rather apt image for this holy day and for this Holy Week.

Sour wine. It combines the bad and the good. It is an image of what is considered a symbol of good times—wine—made undrinkable by the invasion of troublesome bacteria. That passage from Isaiah comes to mind:

And in this mountain shall the Lord of hosts make unto all people a feast of fat things, a feast of wines on the lees, of fat things full of marrow, of wines on the lees well refined. 25:6)

A satisfying and intricate celebratory substance, savored by the palate, becomes a sour, distasteful thing.

Palm Sunday—a day of celebration—begins with a charade of a royal parade and the people hamming it up, welcoming an obviously different kind of king riding on a donkey into the holy city of Jerusalem. That scene is very quickly invaded by a destructive and insidious turn. The would-be-king is turned sour by the willfulness, sinfulness, betrayal, and venom of the people—even some of those closest to him. The wine turns quickly sour, and the king is crucified.

Palm to passion. Celebration to suffering. Wine to vinegar.

The image, however, isn't really all that simple. Sour wine—vinegar—can be a marvelous thing. Those who have inclinations towards the gastronomic arts will know that vinegar adds rich flavor to many foods. Many German dishes come to mind—sauerkraut and sauerbraten. What also comes to mind is the wide variety of tasty salad dressings enlivened by acidity, as well as pickles and olives of so many kinds. My mouth waters.

The art of making vinegar is ancient and highly prized. And it is sour wine-the sour coming from acetic acid, the acid formed when a very specific family of bacteria called acetobacters metabolizes alcohol in the presence of oxygen.

With the possible exception of college-aged males, acetobacters are just about the only critters on earth who can actually thrive on alcohol. And what they do—the acetobacters, not the students—is turn alcohol into acetic acid, which has both an interesting bite (the sour taste) and some interesting abilities (such as the ability to preserve food).

Not to mention, again, that some of the vinegar produced is tasty. Think of the balsamic vinegars, from the Emilia-Romagna region of Italy. That's the stuff which, with a little oil and some salt and pepper, makes a great dipping sauce. The process of producing it takes at least 12 years, but it can take as long as 100. It can be far better than merely bitter. It can be sharp and sweet, meaty and floral, all at the same time. It's good enough to eat on ice cream or fruit. Some folks even sip it straight-a drink indeed fit for a king (and plenty pricey).

And so, we might contemplate today that one image of soured wine offered to Jesus during his agony and immediately before his last breath. Does it speak of the strange confluence of good and evil, joy and suffering of this Holy Week? Was its offering motivated by mercy as a means of relieving pain? Was it an odd act of pity for a thirsty man? Was it cruel mockery to give a so-called "king" what once might have been a kingly quaff?

Some vinegars are good enough for a king, but most are bitter. Still, sour wine adds flavor, preserves, and is used as a cleaning agent (glass, copper, and cutting boards). We could do a riff on that one too, couldn't we? That which has lost its "life" becoming a cleanser. Think of Jesus and our cleansing from sin.

And then there is the curious twist that during this Holy Week many of us will use that odd substance—vinegar—as a medium for dying eggs for Easter.

Here on the edge of Holy Week, we will undoubtedly hear much about the meaning of Jesus' passion, death, and victory. Mark doesn't avoid the agonizing realities of his abandonment. But there is good mixed in with the bad. We realize that Jesus, having known both, is with us in our every moment of abandonment, our every moment of suffering and loss, and our every victory. That presence adds flavor to life, whether in the "wine times" or the "vinegar times." And both can have their savor.

In our lives, when we face pain and loss, we have the example of Jesus to follow, Jesus refuses to fight inflicted pain by inflicting pain. He refuses to overcome injustice with an easy, optimistic plan for progress. He refuses to fight back against the shame poured out on him by a flashy display of power. His wine and his vinegar remain sharp and pure.

The Passion is not a story about something that happened long ago and never again. Jesus is with those who suffer and understands our human experience because he has shared it. The deliberate response of true faithfulness, we learn in the Gospels, is not violent retribution and revenge—not the response of bitterness.

Although we spend much of this week dwelling on the pain and bitterness that our Lord endured, Christianity is not obsessed with pain. It is a religion of resistance and grace and hope. The point of the cross is not suffering and death; it is that the divine-human covenant holds, that there is a love stronger than death. Our God is not an arbitrary ruler who demands the price of suffering and death, but a God who makes possible all of our loves, as well as our resistance to evil.

And so, this week may we go deeply into the meaning of the cross. May we enter fully into the sourness of these days. And may we come through to the full vintage of joy and purpose on the Day of Resurrection. Amen.

May the peace of God, which passes all understanding, keep our hearts and minds through faith in Christ Jesus our Lord unto eternal life. Amen.